Coming Soon
by alicialayne94
Summary: Coming soon but chapter one is up!


"Who the hell are you? Where am I?" Nora Grant asked.

Her voice sounded panicked and shaky. The man in front of her put out his hands as she rose from her position on the couch. He hushed her and she sat back. She glanced down for a moment and as she did, felt pain as she had never before. Her right arm was in a homemade sling fastened around her neck. Her eyes begin to fill with tears.

"Please tell me what's going on," she begged the man.

"You're alright, please calm down. My name is John. John Watson," he said sitting across from her in an armchair. "You are in my flat, 221B Baker Street. I work with a detective and we traced you to be the next victim in a murder case. We got to your apartment in time to stop the killer who had drugged you and broken your arm. I was a military doctor and I set it so you should be alright."

"What are you talking about? I wasn't drugged. There was no one with me in my apartment," she told him.

There were a few footsteps and a tall, skinny, curly-haired man entered the room.

"You left your door unlocked when you left this morning for your job. Why?"

"My sister texted me, said she needed to get away from her husband for a day or two and I offered for her to stay with me," she answered.

"Yes, but you noticed something weird about the text. The number wasn't in your phone and when you questioned it, your 'sister' told you she got a new number. Problem there is she's your sister. Wouldn't you have been one of the first to receive her new number when she got it?"

She didn't have an answer. He continued.

"So, ignoring that fact, you tell her to come over whenever she likes giving her your work schedule. Nothing wrong there except the person you were texting was not your sister but a man named Timothy Rennings. He…"

"How do you know all of this?" she interrupted.

He reached into his pocket and turned her cellphone around in his fingers before walking over and handing it to her. She felt violated and gave him a dirty look.

"Four months ago, little Timothy lost his marbles, killed his ex-girlfriend whom he obsessed over, and chopped off her head, keeping it in his refrigerator. He obsessed similarly with the praying mantis from whom this whole idea blossomed. Any girl that intimidated Timothy became a threat to him and taunted him in his schizophrenic mind. He decided to stop it all by drugging and kidnapping these women, making them eat small pieces of the ex-girlfriend's head, and then killing them either by suffocation or slitting their throats," he explained.

"I heard about those bodies they found. But I wasn't kidnapped," she said.

"No, but you were drugged so you could be kidnapped," John spoke.

"You told this man your work hours. He knew when you would be gone and about when you would be home. He was able to walk in through the unlocked door and…what's the last thing you remember?" he asked.

She thought hard for a moment.

"I sat down at my desk for a moment and I must have just fallen asleep," she said.

"No, you didn't just fall asleep. Timothy waltzed in before you got home, hid behind your couch, and waited for you to sit down. He then simply went behind you and injected you with ketamine, in the small of your neck. Feeling the needle you turned around and saw him. Naturally a struggle resulted and he broke your arm in the process. Ketamine is fast acting and results in temporary memory loss. As time goes on, you will most likely begin to remember more than sitting down in your chair. John and I came in as he was about to leave with you."

She looked at John who nodded as if to reassure her that the man wasn't lying.

"So, he was just some guy?" she asked.

"Yes. You could have passed him on the street and made eye contact, bumped shoulders on the tube, anything." John explained.

She took a deep breath.

"Why am I here and not the hospital?" she asked them.

"What need do you have for a hospital?" the man said, sitting down to a computer on a desk across the room.

"I was drugged. My arm is broken," she told him.

"The ketamine has already worn off; there are no long term effects. John set your arm properly, you will be fine. If you still prefer to waste your time at the hospital, go right ahead. We brought you here to prove my theory correct," he said.

She thought for a moment and tried hard to calm herself down and keep from having a full blown panic attack.

"Who are you?" she asked him.

"Sherlock Holmes. I'm a detective," he said, still facing the computer.

She had heard his name before but couldn't remember where. She assumed it had been the news or the paper. She felt her mind ease a little and she felt safer.

"I guess I should thank you for saving my life, both of you," she said to them.

John shook his head.

"Don't worry about it. You can rest here for a while if you like and when you're ready I can call you a cab," he offered.

"Ok, thank you. God, what am I going to do? I can't stay in that flat now I'm just going to imagine that man hiding there," she said putting her hand to her head. "I'll have to just grab a few things tonight and stay in a hotel until I can figure things out."

As she spoke, an older woman came into the room carrying a cup of tea, steam still rising from the top.

"Oh, dear, don't stay in one of those filthy hotels. They have bugs in the sheets and the showers barely work. You can stay here for now. I've got a room just downstairs. John and I put a bed down there last week, hoping it would attract a buyer. You can stay there if you like for a bit, after all you've been through."

The woman spoke quickly, handing her the tea. The warmness it sent through her hand calmed her.

"Thank you very much, but I don't want to be a burden," she answered.

Sherlock still sat at the computer, quiet.

"Oh, nonsense! No one is more a burden than these boys. Shooting off guns at one in the morning, keeping human heads in the refrigerator..."

The woman shook her head and sighed. Nora was taken aback by what she said. John saw the shock on her face.

"Mrs. Hudson is getting a bit fed up with Sherlock's…er…experiments. But she is right. You won't be a burden staying in 221C."

She raised the cup to her mouth and took a sip.

"Thank you, really. That is more than kind of you,"

"Mrs. Hudson is desperate to rent out that flat. Don't feel flattered," Sherlock said, typing away.

Mrs. Hudson shot him a nasty look.

"Well, maybe if you didn't scare away the ones who've been interested, I wouldn't have to be desperate!"

She turned and stormed out of the room. Sherlock laughed quietly.

John smiled at her as if to clear the awkwardness of what had just happened.

"I'll go call a cab then and I'll go with you to get your things," he stood up.

"I'll go. You stay here and write your blog. I've got an idea and I need another look at the scene," Sherlock said, standing up and throwing on a long, black coat.

"Moriarty?" John asked.

"That's the question," he replied as he headed down the stairs and out the front door.

"Who's Moriarty?" she asked, setting the tea down on the table and pushing herself up with her useful arm.

"It's a long story. He's a criminal. You better go catch him. Here," he said handing her his coat. She pulled her good arm through the sleeve and held down the other half over her broken arm before going the way Sherlock had gone.

"Sherlock isn't good with people. Try not to take anything he says to you too personally," John said as she left.

She wondered exactly what that meant as she entered the cab where Sherlock was already sitting.


End file.
